


Here We Come A-Wassailing

by Lenore



Category: Master and Commander - O'Brian
Genre: Established Relationship, Holiday, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-29
Updated: 2006-11-29
Packaged: 2017-10-03 18:22:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenore/pseuds/Lenore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Home for the holidays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here We Come A-Wassailing

The house smelled of pine and spice, the light, clean heat of baking and the heavier, animal warmth of tallow, all the rooms of the downstairs ablaze with candles, as gay as any Viscount's home on the eve of a ball. Jack had spent the early hours chasing the little ones about the place, drawing bright, high squeals of laughter from them, until it grew to such a commotion that Sophie came from the kitchen, "Jack, must you stir them up so?"

Since the children had gone to bed, he'd been reduced to aimlessly drifting from room to room, at sea in all the urgent domesticity, a hapless male caught in the ebb and flow of feminine industry. Every time he turned about, it seemed, Sophie was there, shooing him out of her way. He'd run ashore at last by the windows in his study, looking out on the back garden.

It had been two months ago that Stephen had broken the unhappy news, "A matter of some urgency has arisen in Catalonia, and I must not delay."

Jack had been incredulous. "But my dear Stephen, if you start for Spain now, how ever will you return in time for Christmas?"

Stephen's expression, a frank refusal to apologize, was his answer.

There had been only one letter from Stephen since Jack had seen him off at Portsmouth, filled with the vexations of the journey and the frustrations of the business that had drawn him from home. When Stephen was oppressed by tedious cares, he could grow quite careless about his correspondence, even with his friends.

"My dear husband." Sophie touched him lightly on the sleeve; he had not heard her come in. "I have brought you your Christmas spirit."

He sampled the wassail. "You have outdone yourself as always, my dear Sophie."

The compliment drew a smile from her, and he touched her cheek, brushing away a dusty trace of flour. She stayed quietly at his side while he had his punch. Outside, the tops of the trees in the orchard swayed in the wind, to and fro, the motion so regular and lulling that Jack could almost imagine himself at sea, salt in his throat and on his skin, the play of waves as solid a ground beneath his feet as the dirt and dust to any lubberly man. _No, no, I do not wish myself away from home,_ he admonished himself, _away from those who belong to me, bone and blood._

Sophie threaded her arm through his. "I miss your usual animation."

"I am perhaps a bit weary."

She smiled up at him. "I have just the thing come the morrow to restore your good cheer."

"You know how over fond I am of your Christmas pudding." He patted his belly that had only grown more generous with marriage.

"Will you come up to bed now?" she asked, still shy after their years of union.

He kissed her hand. "Soon, my dear. Leave the candles to me. You should not be without your rest when you have such a feast to bring to table tomorrow."

Jack listened to her light tread on the stairs and stayed at the window as he finished his punch. Before he turned in, he offered up a few quiet words for one who was much too far away to hear them, _May the day bring gladness to even your cantankerous heart, my love._

* * *

Christmas Day arrived all too early, only the palest hint of pink on the horizon, with a grievous clatter outside that roused Jack unhappily from a sound sleep. He pulled on his clothes rather helter-skelter and trudged downstairs to see whatever was the matter. He found Sophie awaiting him in the hall, apron tied about her, already busy with her duties in the kitchen.

"What on earth is that infernal commotion?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Will you go see about it?"

He sighed and took his cloak from the peg on the wall, wrapped it around him and headed out into the chilly dark. A rather shabby chaise stood in the lane with a pair of rundown mares and a surly coachman gripping the reins, not at all pleased it would seem to be out and about so early of a Christmas morning. The racket was coming from around the rear of the chaise where the baggage was stored, and Jack stepped that way. "Friend, is there some assistance I can—"

"You can draw and quarter that cretin who sits atop the box for what he's done to my specimens. Do you comprehend the wreck he's made of my _dermochelys coriacea_? The creature is a felon, Jack, an absolute felon."

"Stephen?" The unmistakable sight of his friend, dressed in his eccentric black traveling garment, red in the face from vexation could not keep the note of doubt from his voice.

Stephen cast an irritated scowl at him. "Why are you still standing there when my specimens are all going to the devil in this damnable English mist of yours?"

This fit of temper was enough at last to convince Jack of the truthfulness of his senses, and he bounded forward, taking Stephen by the shoulders, embracing him a hearty welcome. "I did not think you would come."

Stephen's pique gave way to puzzlement. "Sophie didn't tell you? She's been hurrying me with her letters this fortnight at least."

"She must have intended it as a surprise, the minx." He clapped Stephen on the back and shouldered the precious boxes of specimens to get them in out of the damp and keep his friend from fretting. "Come in, come in, dear Stephen. Everyone will be so very glad to have you safe arrived."

This last was said with a fond glance, and Stephen answered it with a bemused little smile, because there was sure to be none gladder than Jack himself.

Inside, Sophie greeted Stephen with a big smile and many kisses, and he playfully chided her about keeping secrets. Jack left them to exchange their hellos while he invited the coachman round to the kitchen for some coffee and breakfast and carried Stephen's baggage up to his room. Jack was just laying in the last of it, careful not to thump the trunks too loudly since Stephen could be most particular about his precious cargo, when he appeared in the doorway.

"I thought I should see to my specimens after the frightful trip they've had."

Jack nodded distractedly. At sea, he never wanted for decision, but on land, he could never quite find his balance, and he was caught now between expressing all that he had felt at Stephen's absence and observing the rule they had made between them about Stephen's visits to this house. In the end, need outweighed decorum, and he came forward with offered kisses, his hand laid against Stephen's cheek, rubbing his whiskers. Stephen must have longed for him most uncommonly while he was away, because it was normally he who recalled their agreement and insisted on its observance, but now he embraced Jack and returned his kisses most eagerly, most sweetly.

"Joy," he whispered, the word so soft and breathless, such a change from Stephen's earlier crossness, that it made Jack's blood start to rise.

"Stephen." He caught him about the waist and walked him backward toward the bed.

At last, Stephen's conscience roused itself, and he pressed a hand to Jack's chest. "No, love. Not...now."

_Not here_ lay ill hidden beneath the plea.

Jack let him go and took a breath and a step back. "Sophie will want to feed you. I swear you've grown even thinner."

"My dear Jack, you mistake the case entirely. I believe it is you who have grown more rotund."

Jack broke into a grin. "Red meat in great quantities is the best thing in the world for a man, my dear Stephen.

His grin broadened as Stephen gave voice to his conviction that Jack would surely eat himself into his grave before Easter.

"See to your specimens, Stephen, and come down to breakfast," Jack said, moving to the door. "I wish to hear all about your adventures in Catalonia. I hope your she-wolf is getting on well."

"Indeed," Stephen said dryly. "She's made quite a feast of my sheep."

Jack had nearly quitted him when Stephen called him back.

"Joy? Do you think we might have some music later? My cello has grown quite desperate from disuse."

Jack smiled softly. "Yes, my dear Stephen, let us have our duet. You know there is nothing I love quite so much."  



End file.
